


love is not over

by shiromantic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Getting Back Together, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24011563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiromantic/pseuds/shiromantic
Summary: Sylvain doesn’t get off the couch but rearranges himself to be sitting instead. “Felix,” he tries again. It’s as far as he’ll go before begging. “This is ridiculous - can’t we just go back to how we were before?”There’s a distinct sorrow in Felix’s face. The expression carves something out of his heart and leaves him aching. He knows his next words just as he knows the curve of Felix’s lips and his breath against his skin.“No,” Felix murmurs. “We can’t.”After five years, Sylvain and Felix meet again. Getting back together is harder than they ever thought it’d be.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 143





	love is not over

**Author's Note:**

> this fic has been wip since december 2019 if we're being honest - and i'm happy to say that i finally finished it! it's been an emotionally taxing journey but i hope you enjoy this fic that i've worked on for so long!

The pilot’s drawl about arriving in the region and the current time is barely comprehensible with his three hour playlist playing loud enough to ring in his skull. Fatigue has seeped into his bones over the past ten hours flying across the ocean in economy class seating arrangement. Currently, he sits between an older couple with the woman finishing her crochet square and her husband who has been sleeping for the entire flight. If it weren’t for his snoring, Sylvain would be concerned.

Maybe he shouldn’t have spent all that money on the flowers for Jennifer a week ago if he knew his father was going to throw a tantrum and not lend him a family jet. It’s a fair assumption that his father would think this would break Sylvain – being at mercy to a baby with a soul of a banshee really let him take an introspective look on all his choices that lead up to it. Unfortunately, his father didn’t consider that Sylvain was simply a terrible person. 

Bumping his knees against the front seat, he struggles to pull his phone out from his jeans’ back pocket. He is greeted by a list of glowing messages that have squeezed themselves on the glass screen for his attention. 

_ Ingrid [6:00pm]: We’re waiting at arrivals and pick-ups _

_ Ingrid [6:05pm]: Message us when you’re here _

He figures that they’ll find him, so he skips to the next one:

_ Blonde, Glasses, (22) [12:15pm]: Where are you? I’ve been waiting for an hour now. _

Next.

_ Fatherly Figure Whom I Adore [2:00pm]: We need to talk. 10am. Tomorrow. _

He grimaces before pocketing his phone. So much for relaxing – wasn’t going abroad to work at his father’s location enough? He didn’t just sleep around those five years; sure, the ratio between work and philandering may range from 50-50 to 80-20 but it was never the full hundred percent. That should count for something, at least. He simply didn’t have the luxury after Miklan nearly made the company go bankrupt and their father made Sylvain grab a broom to sweep the broken bits up to mold the company into something tangible again.

Well, at least he would be starting college again. That’s at least ten years less of responsibility and work that he was doing abroad when he became head of the law firm temporarily. He’ll be returning to his apartment and the people he left behind.

He takes out his phone again.

_ Me [Yesterday, 2:30am]: i’m coming back home tomorrow _

_ Felix [Yesterday, 3:00am]: I know. _

_ Felix [Yesterday, 3:10am]: You posted in the groupchat. _

_ Me [Yesterday, 3:10am]: you coming with dimi and ingrid? _

_ Felix [Yesterday, 3:12am]: Maybe. _

Five years.

The rows in front of him have finished pulling out their carry-ons and the geriatric has woken up from his slumber and let Sylvain move past him. He pulls his duffle bag from the top compartment and helps his seatmates with their luggage as well. He slings the duffle over his shoulder and makes his way down the out-dated carpeted aisle. The flight attendants are waiting for him by the end with lipstick smiles and thank him for choosing to fly with them. 

Five years ago, he broke up with Felix.

-

The pick-up area by the roadside was a lineup of families and couples who stare at oncoming cars with identical restless energies for a rolled down window and familiar face. Eight o’ clock at night did not mean much in the summer when the sky had just barely turned a warm orange with the sun reluctantly hanging itself between the gaps of clouds. The car lanes move at a languid pace and Sylvain watches people disperse around here until he hears a clear voice break through his jetlagged fog:

“Sylvain! Over here!”

He looks over but is engulfed by blonde hair and a crushing hug that squeezes around his torso a bit too tight to be comfortable. He laughs and holds Ingrid, the scent of her comforting pine smell washes over him and fills him with an inexplicable nostalgic joy. She lets go: lips shined with some sort of gloss and – mascara? Her hair has never been so short in all the time that he’s known her.

With a warm smile, Ingrid punches him in the arm. “That’s for not replying to our messages.”

Sylvain rubs at his sore bicep with a frown. He can always count on her for never falling short of her right hook. “This is my welcome after five years?”

“It really couldn’t have killed you to turn on your notifications?” Her smile gives away her true disposition despite her crossed arms and raised chin.

“Give me a break, Ingrid. You found me, didn’t you?” Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “I really don’t see the problem here.”

Ingrid begins to nag him about communication and turning on his phone as he sees Dimitri make his way over to them. It was kind of hard not to see him because, god, these past five years really hit him like a train. Finally, his inhumane strength is finally reflective in his build – since when was Dimitri eye-level with him? His hair has grown long but it seems he tried to style it today by having some of his bangs off his face and the rest tied it into an endearing little ponytail.

“Good to see you again, Sylvain,” Dimitri smiles. “We’ve missed you.”

Sylvain puts his hand on Dimitri’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Missed you too, Dimi. I see that you have not taken my advice to try out the man bun and opted for the inferior option.”

“I am  _ not _ trying out the man bun.”

“Oh, come on.” He grins, now slinging his entire arm around his shoulders. “Be my little bun boy.”

Dimitri and Ingrid both sigh at the same time.

“As awful as ever.” Of course, he was here. Why did Sylvain think he wouldn’t be?

Sylvain shrugs. “It’s who I am, Felix. Don’t act like you didn’t miss it.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Oh, yes. I’m weeping with joy.”

His eyes are sharp and bright like carved gold only intensified by his stoic expression. The several dark strands which had fallen out of his ponytail was like ash dusting across the pale snow of his skin. There've been photos, there've been video-calls, but the screen and the oceans could not capture Felix’s likeness of a cold winter night. Five years have chipped away at the softness of teenage youth and has left a man that Sylvain recognizes but cannot place in his memory.

“Aw, Felix,” Sylvain coos. “You can rest your weary head on my chest if you want.”

“Hard pass,” is the immediate answer.

“Come on, Felix,” Dimitri chides and tries to pat him on the back. His hand is batted away. “You missed Sylvain too.”

He huffs but he says pleasantly, “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

It was certainly different from what he was used to. Five years ago, it seems like Felix was always a few words away from clawing Dimitri’s eyes out. Even in the same room, an unbelievable tension would be in the air that no one mentioned or else, everything would fall apart.

There was no tension today. Instead, there seemed to be a mutual affection between them like an owner with his once-feral cat. He watches them talk amicably – Dimitri with his animated hand gestures and Felix with something like exasperated fondness. It’s a rare expression and it looks different when Sylvain isn’t the one receiving it.

Sylvain knows that Dimitri struggled these past five years and he knows that, despite everything that Felix preaches, he stayed through it all and never truly left Dimitri alone to suffer. Perhaps, that is what changed their relationship dynamic so drastically. He doesn’t know the details, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like Sylvain tells Felix about all his romantic endeavours.

He decides that it’s time to move on and interrupts pleasantly, “I’m glad that not everything has changed around here. Ingrid still can’t get off my back. Felix is as unapproachable as ever. Dimitri, if I had to guess – “

“Spare me the details,” Dimitri pleads him. 

Sylvain doesn’t. “Still a virgin?”

Everyone groans. It takes several apologies for Felix not to sabotage Sylvain’s luggage and belongings into the bushes when they finally load into the car. Dimitri’s car is old. It was Glenn’s old car and was passed down to Dimitri in high-school – there’s still old CDs from when they were in high school together. It even smells the same. The newest thing in this car was the little hula girl that Sylvain mailed to him two years ago which was an unexpected and pleasant surprise.

“You kept Lola!” He exclaims upon sight. “Did she keep you company during your lonely nights?”

“Can I throw him out of the car yet?” Felix calls from the backseat.

Sylvain ignores his rude remark because he is above that. He turns on the radio and spins the knob to raise the volume of whatever pop song is on the viewer-requested Top 20. Any awkwardness from the reunion melts away as they all sing terribly off-key. It takes a song or two for Dimitri and Ingrid. They don’t manage to get Felix to join no matter how much they goad him but his fingers tapping along the windowsill is enough for Sylvain.

Dimitri explains that he booked this entire restaurant for the night. Sylvain isn’t explicitly told but he knows that Dimitri basically gave him permission to get to the point of slobbering drunk as fast as he can.

It’s one they’ve been to many times before because the chefs cater to Annette’s gluten allergy and apparently, they make the best gluten-free loaves in-town, or so he’s been told. The restaurant was a family-owned place with dark wood and floral wallpaper that yellowed by the edges. One would say it was nostalgic or homey, but it never looked like a home that Sylvain lived in. His homes were glass, steel, and far above the ground.

Upon entering with the chime of the door’s bell, he is greeted by a startled, “He’s here!” and then confetti blowing up in his face as a chorus of people yell, “Welcome home!” Once it settles, he sees a long row of tables being pushed together and smiling faces. Annette is the first one to move and he catches her, a ball of orange hair and energy, in his arms.

“Took you long enough!” Annette shouts, pulling away from his chest. She’s let her hair out to fall across her shoulders and it frames her cheeks filled with abundant freckles because of the summer heat.

“Well, I couldn’t leave my best girl behind.” He winks and wow, he must’ve really been missed because all Annette does is laugh. He does hear Felix huff behind him.

She leads him towards ‘his seat’ apparently which is at the end of the long, makeshift table. Dimitri takes a seat on his right beside Dedue who is probably just here for Dimitri. He is honoured anyway. Ashe is on Sylvain’s left while Felix goes to sit with Annette further down the table with Ingrid and Mercedes.

“Welcome back, Sylvain,” Ashe greets. “Did you enjoy your time abroad?”

All he does is shrug. “It was a time, it was abroad. I couldn’t have asked for anything else.”

“It all sounds exciting to me,” he says, resting his face on his hands. His eyes were so bright that they almost sparkled even in the dim lighting of the restaurant. “I’ve never even been on a plane before. Although, I guess it’s normal for you – didn’t you come in on your father’s private jet?”

Sylvain shakes his head. “Not today. He cut me off last minute. He’ll get over it in a month or so, and then, I’m sure I can take you on a ride.”

Ashe bristles at his statement before repeating incredulously, “You can just do that? Isn’t that a waste of money?”

He thinks about how angry his father would be if Sylvain borrowed a jet to give his lower-class friend a leisure trip. It makes his already default smile widen a bit further. “Hey, what’s the use in power and money if I can’t exploit it to my advantage?”

Dimitri’s nagging voice from beside him interrupts at the expected time. “Sylvain.”

“Have you tried the Caesar, Dimitri?” Sylvain grins, pushing the Happy Hour menu towards him. “I heard it’s divine.”

Across the way, he doesn’t mean to see it, but of course, he does. His heart is connected to Felix like a taut rope and pulls him forward whenever he moves. This time, Felix is smiling for the first time that day. Annette is talking about the song that is playing in the restaurant among everyone’s chatter. She’s singing it for Felix to hear it clearly and he’s tilting his head to listen better.

_ “Should we start with an appetizer? What do you think, Sylvain?” _

_ “I do love the cake they serve here! Don’t you, Ingrid?” _

_ “I don’t know if I’ll have room for dessert!” _

“Sylvain?”

Glancing over, he sees Dimitri staring at him with a sad expression. He quickly snatches Dimitri’s glass from his hand and raises it in the air. “Hey, who wants a drink? It’s on me – your favourite person!” 

Everyone cheers but all he hears is Annette’s soft voice floating through the air. He sees Felix’s unwavering gaze on her. She knew all the lyrics and her voice did not shake when she sang lyrics about how nothing ever is enough.

-

He knows that everyone sitting at this table has been a designated driver for Sylvain once. He’s grateful for having a support network filled with people who are responsible and care for his well-being. However, it is also his duty and responsibility as the train-wreck, to get everyone a little on the best side of tipsy. The only exceptions being Dimitri and Dedue who were the designated drivers tonight.

He’s done a good job, if he says so himself. Ashe is a lightweight so Sylvain thinks he’s already buzzed by just the first drink. His face has flushed to the point that his freckles are non-existent in the pool of red as he plays with the food on his plate absentmindedly. Annette is lying on Mercedes’ lap, sometimes raising herself up to exclaim, “I’m awake!” before returning to her position: floating between consciousness and unconsciousness. Mercedes is on her eighth drink and has also managed to convince Ingrid to loosen up and have a drink or two; she likes a hard whiskey, and Dionysus has chosen to bless her with the ability to never have a hangover.

Sylvain is taking his time with each drink. Each glass makes him feel like he’s growing heavier and heavier and he might sink into the earth. His face feels flushed and hot to touch as he repeatedly touches his cheek with the back of his hand. He’s not drunk – but in that warm middle ground of tipsy where he feels like everything is going to be alright. Which means he is vulnerable enough to make some mistakes tonight. Although, one could argue that is his general state of being.

Amidst the twinkling of glasses, there’s a scrape of wood against wood at the end of the table. Felix shrugs on his coat and Mercedes says, “You’re leaving already, Felix? It’s only eight!”

His frown deepens. It lacks sternness with a high flush as if Mercedes took her makeup brush and dusted his cheeks with a fine powder. “I’ve had enough to drink for the night.”

Felix doesn’t drink until he’s intoxicated – it’s usually after the first bottle, he calls quits. Sylvain is proud to say he’s the only one that has witnessed Felix drunk enough to sleepily cuddle into his chest on the couch at 4am in his living room on a game night where everyone around them was passed out on the comfiest spots on the floor. It was a moment of Felix letting go that he hasn’t done since they were children before Glenn died and everything got worse.

So, everyone takes the excuse and they call out their well-wishes for Felix while he leaves the restaurant with the bell chiming behind him. Something in the back of Sylvain’s mind itches afterwards despite everyone returning to their conversations and drinks. Why did he leave so soon? Shouldn’t Sylvain try to stop him?

_ No, no. _ He shakes his head to clear the thoughts and he sees Ashe look over at him curiously. Taking an aggressive swig of the bottle, he slams it onto the table unsteadily. Who cares about Felix? If he wants to leave early, that’s his problem. What’s life for, if not for drinking, partying, and loving?

Sylvain sighs. He takes another swig for good luck. Someone tries to get his attention, but he ignores them easily as he pushes past a waitress towards the door. Glancing up and down the streets, he finds him among the illumination by the streetlamps. His hands stuffed into his black hoodie and old runners with soles that hung onto the bottoms of his shoes with each step.

“Felix!” Sylvain shouts. It echoes among the quiet street and his heart sinks when Felix’s silhouette continues to shrink. He thinks about leaving him alone, but Felix stops by a streetlamp and turns around. He takes the chance and runs to catch up to him even as his loafers scrape the gravel.

He’s embarrassingly tired when he arrives and tries to hide the way his chest heaves. Felix only watches him, having not moved an inch. He takes a deep breath and the sentence leaves him in a tired gasp, “Why did you leave?”

Felix squints. “Are you an idiot?”

“Come on,” Sylvain whines. “Do you really hate spending time with me that much?”

He opens his mouth then closes it. He turns around and says quietly, “I don’t hate it.”

It takes a moment for Sylvain to hear it and process it as Felix crosses the street. Following him, he says, “Glad that I haven’t scared you off yet.”

“Why are you still following me?” Felix snaps, throwing his arms up in the air. It was a gesture of frustration, but Sylvain knows if Felix didn’t really want him to be here, he’d kick his ass without a second thought.

“I know it’s been awhile,” Sylvain says slowly. “But I do live down the street from you, Felix.”

“So?” Felix is truly the master of being stand-offish and unsympathetic to Sylvain’s needs. “You’re too drunk to walk. Get a cab.”

“Oh, Felix,” He grins. “I know from your breath that you had at least a couple of pints of that cheap beer you like. Don’t you ever want Sex on the Beach?”

“Get fucked.”

“Those were my plans until the surprise party,” he admits with a wistful sigh. “Now I’m going back home sad. Pitiful. Alone.”

Felix huffs, not even looking at the impressive pout he’s making. “You’re with me, aren’t you?”

Sylvain breaks his façade and lets out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

He remembers that his luggage is still in Dimitri’s car – but that’s fine. He knows that Dimitri is a good person and will drop it off at his place. He checks his phone and sees that he’s already gotten a message about it. He shoots a quick text before shoving it back into his pocket.

Going abroad didn’t do anything to his muscle memory. The pavement feels the same underneath his soles and they still haven’t fixed a streetlamp by the side of the road. In another summer years ago, they were returning from the café further down and their heels clicked in rhythm because Sylvain slowed down his long strides to meet Felix. Hearing the familiar  _ click, click, click _ , is what makes the streets feel the same and what makes it feel like home. If he didn’t follow Felix right out the restaurant, he probably would have found him anyway.

Felix’s apartment building is modest for someone of his background. They have decided to keep the brick of the building which aged the infrastructure but gave it the rustic charm. When Sylvain asked why he didn’t just live in his apartment in the nicer district down the block, Felix just said,  _ “I’m closer to the gym.” _

His heart goes cold when he thinks that it’s time for him to say goodbye. He wanted to follow Felix but did not account that they would still part in the end. However, upon arrival, Felix holds the door open and looks backwards at him. They stare at each other until Felix barks out impatiently, “Are you coming up or what?”

Ever the master of language, he blurts out, “Huh?”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Don’t make me say it again.”

All the things that this may imply swirl around in his head. He doesn’t know if this is them getting back together again after five years and pretending that they never broke up. He doesn’t know if Felix is just trying to be a good friend and Sylvain’s a little tipsier than he thought.

What he does know that Felix never does anything he doesn’t want to do. He wants Sylvain to come upstairs to his place – and he would be rejecting it if he walked away now.

“Okay, okay,” he concedes and walks into the apartment lobby. He wipes his clammy hands on the back of his jeans. “Still living on the 8 th floor, yeah? 806?”

Felix throws a weird look over his shoulder before pressing the button. “Why’d you memorize my address?”

“It’s basically my second home,” Sylvain defends himself and presses the floor number before he can. Leaning on the side of the elevator, he grins. “Really, Felix. I thought you would remember that, at least.”

Felix doesn’t answer and leaves the elevator immediately once they’ve reached their floor. He brushes past the woman about to enter and Sylvain hastily follows him. He manages to spare an apologetic smile for the woman, and she giggles behind her hand.

The doorway to Felix’s apartment still had some dents and scratches when Sylvain would bump his head on the top. They did not accommodate anybody over six feet in this building and when Felix finally unlocks the door, he makes sure to duck down before heading inside.

“Going to the bathroom,” Felix mutters and kicks off his combat boots into the shoe compartment. Only one manages in and the second one flops over. He doesn’t fix it. “Don’t touch anything.”

Sylvain raises his hands. “You don’t need to tell me that. I like having hands.”

He takes his shoes off in the front before walking into the living room connected to the kitchen. Felix’s apartment never looked like a home – it looked like a place where he slept and ate if he had to. Memories began to flood in and fill his head: he remembers the many times they had left the couch, tripping on each other’s feet to the bedroom down the hall.

He shakes his head. Why did he agree to this again?

Sylvain does his best to look at everything objectively. No feelings – just what he sees. The kitchen was clean because Sylvain knows Felix doesn’t even cook and his diet consists of protein shakes and when they drag him out like tonight. There’s one plate in the sink and the kitchen island has a vase filled with flowers that must be from Annette.

The living room had some signs of living at least. The leather couch was expensive and chic but was strewn with old t-shirts and a blanket. The coffee table was made of glass but had several empty mugs without coasters underneath.

Mugs. Completely impersonal and perfect for distracting himself with. He picks them up with two in each hand and cringes when he sees the coffee ring stains that are, at this point, a lost cause. Heading towards the kitchen, he puts the mugs down and twists the handle as the faucet sprays warm water into the sink.

Rolling up his sleeves, he grabs the sponge and squeezes a couple of dollops of dish-soap. He’s only scrubbed the inside of one twice when he hears a groan.

“You know,” Sylvain says, as he starts to wash the rim, “most people would be grateful to have such a kind roommate.”

“You’re not my roommate. I also told you not to touch my things,” Felix snaps, already making his way towards him from the corridor. He tries to snatch the cup out of his hand, but barely misses when Sylvain raises it above reach. “Why do you – make everything so difficult?”

“Says the one without coasters.” Sylvain places the wet mug on the counter and picks up the second one. “Can you help me dry them at least?”

Felix scoffs but he already had a dish towel in his hand. Like with all things, Felix takes dish-drying seriously and is much more meticulous than he needed to be. His lips were downturned into a concentrated scowl and it took Sylvain everything to turn his attention back to the Star Wars mug in his hands.

As he’s washing the mug, he accidentally grazes hips with Felix by his side. His heart seizes up in his chest, but the faucet continues to run, and Felix continues to dry like his life depends on it. He chuckles to himself and all tension slips off his shoulders like a blanket to his feet.

In a quiet voice, Sylvain says, “You kept it after all this time?”

“Kept what?”

He gives him the mug. “This. Dimitri got it for you the Christmas before I left.”

Felix, pointedly, avoids his gaze and just stares intently at Darth Vader. The black paint has chipped off around the edges especially, making Darth Vader look as if he’s been through some rough battles. Felix’s calloused fingers clench the dishrag as he begins to wipe the rim and the crevices of the mug. With a sheepish tone, he mutters, “It’s only been five years.”

“Five years is a long time,” Sylvain says. His attention follows the strand of hair that falls between Felix’s eyes as it bounces with his every movement. “I don’t think I remember what my present was. There was karaoke that year, wasn’t there?”

“Wasn’t there for it,” he mutters.

Sylvain snorts. “No way. You would never miss a chance for Annette’s rendition of Santa Baby. Eartha Kitt edition,  _ the only edition that matters. _ ” He does his best to emphasize the last words in Annette’s sing-song register. 

Felix doesn’t say anything. With a startling amount of clarity, Sylvain then remembers what happened five years ago. The karaoke session happened after the gift exchange: he was the last one to receive his gift of an ugly Christmas sweater from Ashe. When the rest left to refill their drinks and set up the machine, Felix dragged Sylvain to the bathroom, and pushed him up against the door. He tried to take Sylvain’s sweater off but ripped the collar in his fervour. Ashe didn’t want the details of how the present got ruined in just ten minutes of receiving it once they left the bathroom.

He remembers the heat mixed with the taste: a whisper of whiskey and an everlasting hunger. Felix’s body flush against his, fitting just right, as his hands scramble on the wooden door for stability. Blunt fingernails digging into the bare skin of his shoulders and insistent lip biting for Sylvain to grab onto Felix too – and forget the world just outside the door.

“You know,” his voice cracks on the first word and he clears his throat. “I thought you would’ve gotten new mugs by now.”

Sylvain’s weak attempt for a change in conversation is snatched by Felix immediately. “I don’t need new ones.”

“But,” he turns the tap off with a decisive twist, “do you want new ones?”

“Never thought about it,” Felix pauses, then shoves the mug back to Sylvain. “You missed a spot.”

Sylvain takes it and peers into the mug. At the bottom, there sits a coffee stain: the size of a bean. “Looks like an old one to me. I don’t think I can get it out.”

Felix huffs. “Just humour me, Sylvain.”

Letting out a small laugh, he takes the cloth and begins to scrub insistently. “I’m telling you to just get a new mug. If you’re worried about hurting Dimitri’s feelings, then just get the same exact mug. He won’t know the difference!”

“Why would I waste my time with that?” He frowns. “I like the mug just fine.”

Felix would probably drink out of a metal sheet that’s been hammered to look vaguely like a cup. He hands the mug to Felix who doesn’t even inspect if the stain is still there and just dries vigorously. Sylvain sighs and the breath that leaves him tastes wistful.

He murmurs, “Are you going to deal with ‘just fine’ for the rest of your life?”

Felix pauses before answering, “I don’t need new and shiny. All I need is something that will work for me.”

“Hey, Felix.” Sylvain takes a step closer to him and Felix doesn’t move. “Are we talking about mugs anymore?”

Fueled with something like stupidity, he pulls him into a kiss. Felix has never been one to receive things without a fight. There have been many times where Sylvain came away from a kiss with a bleeding lip. So, he’s surprised when Felix responds with soft eagerness. The mug clatters into the sink and no one sees if it chipped or not.

When their mouths part for one another, Felix pushes in further, and holds onto him by the shoulders to reach. Sylvain maneuvers himself to encircle his large hands around his waist and does his best to steady Felix who balances on his toes. Their teeth clack occasionally in their fervour and Sylvain feels his entire body burn from excitement.

Felix’s fingers begin to dig into his skin and direct him backwards to the couch. He stumbles until his legs hit the sofa and he’s pushed onto his back with Felix straddling his lap. They finally part, short of breath and spit dripping down their chins. Felix wipes it off with the back of his hand and leans in again, stopped only by Sylvain holding him by the shoulders. 

“Let me look at you, Felix,” he murmurs.

He flushes, but obediently sits back. Felix is beautiful – though if Sylvain would ever tell him that, he would get punched. It’s a beauty that makes his heart tremor. There was nothing soft about him because Felix had carved his body into a weapon, something cold and deadly. It’s probably more stupidity than love at this point, for how he yearns to be the victim of his blade.

Sylvain can see him clearly like this with nowhere to hide. This whole day, he was stealing glances of him – in the airport, in the car, in the restaurant. Each time, he was hoping to catch him staring back.

“I missed you,” Sylvain says, petting his sides. “I missed you so much.”

Felix tilts his head up and sighs. When his eyes flutter open, they are framed by his dark lashes and make the space between them burn hot with desire. “I missed you too,” he whispers. “I’m glad you came.”

“I wouldn’t have come if you weren’t there,” he admits lightly. Sylvain begins to play with the bottom of his shirt and graze his fingers across the pale skin exposed. “Those girls…they’re not you.”

Felix swats his hands away, and something cold begins to freeze over his voice. There’s a distinct change in the room – whatever delicate illusion that had built up between them, Sylvain had ruined it. “That’s not what you said five years ago.”

“Didn’t we just agree that five years is nothing?” Sylvain frowns, before forcing himself to lift the corners of his mouth. It’s his charming smile – the one that asks for sweet forgiveness after being a few hours late and mistaking the name for the fifth time that night. “We’ve known each other for so long – are we going to let one fight get between us?”

It’s the wrong thing to do. The smile’s fake warmth isn’t enough to melt the cold wall that Felix frantically begins to build between them again. “I knew it,” he mutters. Before Sylvain can protest, he’s moved off his lap. “You really haven’t changed.”

“What are you talking about?” He sighs and falls back completely flat onto the couch. The loveseat has his feet dangling on the edge. “You’re the one who – started all of this!”

Felix sputters indignantly. If it was physically possible, his hair would be standing up on all ends like a porcupine. “You – you kissed me, Sylvain!”

“I think,” he starts, using a tone similar one would use with a rabid badger, “that you’re forgetting that you kissed me back.”

“Stop talking like that,” Felix snaps. “And get off my couch.”

Sylvain doesn’t get off the couch but rearranges himself to be sitting instead. “Felix,” he tries again. It’s as far as he’ll go before begging. “This is ridiculous - can’t we just go back to how we were before?”

There’s a distinct sorrow in Felix’s face. The expression carves something out of his heart and leaves him aching. He knows his next words just as he knows the curve of Felix’s lips and his breath against his skin.

“No,” Felix murmurs. “We can’t.”

-

Sylvain would like to take this moment to thank his past self for leaving red wine in the cabinets. He has considerably sobered up since the restaurant which isn’t great when he’s feeling like garbage. The warm, fuzzy feeling of euphoria had died and rotted into something ugly. He had finished half a bottle when his phone buzzed on the counter. The screen lights up with a text from his favourite person in the entire world – in fact, there’s no one else who has his heart except this man. He sips from the rim of his newly filled glass until it's spill-safe and walks to the door, swinging it open.

“Hey, Dimi,” he greets cheerily. Sylvain tilts the glass down his throat until he feels like he can’t take anymore, gulping fiercely. He wipes away some of the contents that had dripped from his mouth with the back of his hand and grins.

Dimitri stares at him. He slowly slides his phone into his back pocket. “Hey.”

They stand at the front door for moments. Moments turn into minutes as Sylvain leans on the door-frame heavily while Dimitri stands still with his duffle bag and luggage by his side. The night air bites at his forearms after rolling up the sleeves of his cashmere crewneck.

“You should come in,” he insists. He can only smile with all his teeth and it almost feels like a grimace. “I’ll make you a drink.”

Dimitri is still staring, but he obliges as he rolls the luggage through the doorway. Sylvain shuts the door before the cold air hits him and brings him back to reality. Although, he can still think coherently, so he still isn’t as piss drunk as he wants to be yet. This tipsy-drunk state he’s managed to return to isn’t doing anything for him. He makes his way back to the kitchen cupboards to grab his second wineglass and pours until it fills the shape. He takes the second one over to Dimitri who sits on his burgundy couch with his hands folded in his lap neatly.

“Here you go,” Sylvain shoves the wineglass into Dimitri’s face carelessly and some of the wine splatters onto Dimitri’s jeans as well as the carpet. Dimitri doesn’t even look at the worrying stain on his clothes and keeps his gaze on Sylvain – as if Sylvain should be embarrassed. He’s not the one that looked like he’d been stabbed in the thigh and had bled all over his friend’s floor.

Sylvain lets out a low whistle, and says quickly, “I’ll get you a new one.”

He is turned away and walking faster when he hears Dimitri’s exasperated voice from the living area. “What happened?”

The lack of grip on socks against the kitchen tiles made him nearly slide into his island counter, stomach first. He manages to regain his footing and uncorks a new bottle for him. “I was a little tired from the flight, so I decided to come home early to rest but I couldn’t resist celebrating a little more.”

It would’ve probably convinced Dimitri if he had not seen Sylvain run out the door and follow Felix like a dog. “So,” Dimitri starts. “You’re happy?”

“Ecstatic, even.” Sylvain tilts the bottle before stopping himself. “Oh, sorry – completely forgot – you’re more of a white wine man, aren’t you?”

“Sylvain, just stop. That’s enough.”

Holding another wine bottle in his hand now, Sylvain says, “What?”

“I said that’s enough,” Dimitri repeats, standing up from the couch. Sylvain wonders if the stain is going to get out. “Do you think I don’t know you – don’t see right through you?”

Sylvain pours the white wine. “You know, I’ve always appreciated you, Dimitri. Our friendship has always been – I screw up, you scold me, I promise to change and then we do it again. You’ll return my luggage again in another ten years.”

Dimitri bites his lip. “I think that’s your relationship with everyone.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been doing it the longest.” Sylvain sets the drinks down on the counter, but Dimitri doesn’t come closer. “Your patience and fortitude are truly something to behold to do it for so long. You also never hit me like Ingrid, so I don’t have to worry about losing my teeth with you.”

“What about Felix?”

It takes all of Sylvain’s willpower not to immediately down the drinks in front of him as if he was trying to reprogram his brain to think of alcohol when his name is mentioned instead of the dull ache and longing. “What about him?”

“Well,” Dimitri starts, shoving his hands in his pockets. “He’s known you just as long as me and Ingrid. He has spent the most time with you out of all of us.”

“He doesn’t count,” Sylvain ends up saying. “I’ve kissed him.”

“Why doesn’t that count?” Dimitri asks.

“Because,” he emphasizes, “ _ I’ve kissed him.  _ You know that I don’t care about people I’ve kissed.”

Dimitri knows the girls that have stayed and gone. Dahlia with her strawberry-smelling lip-gloss on Mondays, then Luna with her red acrylics that were always done on Saturdays. Sylvain Jose Gautier was a curse, they would say. There’s no man who could kiss you sweeter and break your heart faster in just a night.

“When you told me that your father told you to work on the other side of the world, I didn’t think you would do it,” Dimitri murmurs. “You never cared about the company – you never seemed to care about anything, really.”

How could someone be so loving then so cruel, is the question that surrounds Sylvain’s façade. The secret is not ever caring at all: to become a weapon of malicious intent. It was always different with Felix because, simply, he wanted to stay by his side in any way he possibly could – even in the existing spaces between his fingers. He’ll never know if that’s what love is meant to be, but it’s all Sylvain yearns in the aching darkness in his chest that wonders if he deserves to exist at all.

“My brother died, Dimitri,” he spits out with a sharp laugh. “I had no choice.”

Sylvain was able to clear the agency’s name from what Miklan had left behind in two years, at least, enough to be able to save it from bankruptcy. He knows that the dark stain will never truly be gone from the Gautier name. The other three years was for Sylvain to lose himself in the tourism and the locals – to fill himself with something that sparkled instead of amber eyes and a smile that sat on the right side of crooked. He hid it behind the idea of ‘work experience’ and being able to finally spend time with his father in years.

“I kissed him tonight,” Sylvain finally admits. He runs a finger around the rim of the wine glass in slow circles and gazes into the crimson solemnly. “He said – we couldn’t return to how things were five years ago.”

“Oh, Sylvain.” Dimitri’s voice escapes him like a wish. The sincerity in his words made the pain in Sylvain’s chest worsen.

“I don’t know what he wants from me,” he says in a quieter tone. It may be the first time in his life that Sylvain hasn’t been on the same stride as him. He wonders if it was possible to meet in the middle, or if they have finally strayed far enough with no point of return.

He looks up to see Dimitri staring at him before sitting back down onto the wet spot of the sofa again. He watches him fiddle with a ring around his middle finger, twisting the silver band back and forth. He turns it clockwise then counter until his jaw sets and he stands up again with a stronger steel in his blue eyes.

“For a long time, I’ve felt this guilt and remorse for Glenn’s death,” he says. “I was with him that night. I always held the burden close to my chest – always wondered if I could’ve saved him.”

Dimitri was in middle school at the time. He remembers trying not to look at Dimitri even when it was over, and he was still staring lifelessly at the grave as Sylvain was guided by his father into the car to drive back home.

“It was only until last year, when Felix told me that we could never go back – and that I couldn’t carry that weight with me anymore. He found it difficult to be around me because he said that it was as if I saw through him.”

“He just wants you to move forward, Sylvain,” Dimitri smiles. There’s a tangible warmth to his expression but his words inspire hope. A hopefulness that Sylvain wants to reach out and keep it close to him. “He wants a future with you, but he can’t – if you don’t move forward.”

“Hey, Dimitri.” Sylvain is surprised to hear his voice catch out the last syllable with overwhelming emotion that begins to flow throughout his entire self. “What happened so that I started coming to you for relationship advice?”

This startles a laugh out of Dimitri. “I don’t know a lot about love, but _ regret _ \- regret is something I am far too familiar with to call a friend.”

“An ex-lover?” Sylvain teases. “Or was it a friends-with-benefits situation?”

“Is it enough for you if I say that it was complicated?” Dimitri grins. His reply makes Sylvain snort – and they both begin to shake with laughter together. Sylvain has always thought that the world may change, but at least, Felix would be the thing in his life that would remain true forever. Now, he wonders if love isn’t about how well they fit together after being torn apart. Instead, love is choosing each other and making things work even if the pieces don’t fit in the same places. This love is not over - not yet, at least.

“Sylvain,” Dimitri says, as their laughter subsides. “What are you going to do?”

He shrugs. “I’m going to apologize – it’s what he deserves at least. Whether or not he chooses to forgive me and take me back is his choice.”

Dimitri nods. His face is an open book; the man wears a heart on his sleeve, but it makes Sylvain feel better knowing that he’s not imagining the look of pride in his eyes. “I hope you’re not thinking of doing that tonight. You’re definitely not sober enough.”

“Oh, no,” Sylvain shakes his head. “I’m irresponsible, not stupid. That being said – I don’t think I can walk without falling on my face right now.”

Dimitri sighs. “Come on, Sylvain. Let’s get you to bed.”

-

When Sylvain got home, he pulled out his dusty suitcase from the closet and threw it onto the bed roughly. He unzipped the luggage in a single motion and then organized all the things he had to pack for the trip. The most important thing were the clothes: shirts, pants, jackets, underwear. He grabbed pre-folded shirts that are neatly tucked in the drawers and tossed it into the suitcase carelessly.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Felix focused onto the lit screen of his laptop. He had changed out of his funeral suit already into some sweatpants and one of Sylvain’s t-shirts. Sylvain realized he was still wearing his blazer and shoved it off him hastily until it dropped at his feet. He thought about taking a shower when Felix asked, “What time is your flight tomorrow?”

His father had booked it yesterday. “It’s at four.”

Felix continued typing and without looking up, he replied, “We’re going to have to leave the place at two if we’re going to make it.”

Sylvain stopped mid-fold of a pair of jeans he was about to throw into the mess that was accumulating in his luggage space. “I’m sorry.  _ We? _ ”

Felix looked up. “I’m coming with you.”

“Oh. My dad’s sending a chauffeur to drive us to the airport,” Sylvain said. The law firm was out of the country – they decided to bury Miklan where he was born and raised. A son returned – another taken back to the place that was always more important than home.

Felix sighed and shut the laptop close. He slid it off his lap onto the mattress and then got off the bed to stand facing him. “I’m coming with you and your parents.”

“Felix.” Sylvain ran his fingers through his hair, tugged and let go with a loud sigh. “My dad pulled me out of university – but you still need to attend classes.”

“I’m on break. I’ll return when school starts in the fall again – and if you need to stay, I’ll let you,” Felix explained with an unexpected sincerity that dug underneath Sylvain’s skin. “I just - you’re going to a different part of the world after your brother’s funeral. You’ll be with your parents alone. You’re not going to be okay by yourself.”

“Why would that affect me? I hate Miklan.”  _ Hated. _ He’s dead now.

“No, you didn’t,” he said. “I hated him – you thought you deserved it.”

“Fine,” Sylvain conceded and threw his hands up in the air. “Maybe I don’t blame him; god knows that could’ve been me if our situations were reversed. That doesn’t change the fact that I still have to clean up his mess.”

“You can’t do it, Sylvain,” Felix continued to insist. “You’ll fall apart.”

“What?” He laughed, high-pitched and awful. He was speaking too loudly now, and it helped with the numb feeling throughout his body. “Just because you fell apart after Glenn’s death?”

He stood up from the bed now and his fists were curled tightly by his sides. He hissed through the gates of clenched teeth, “Shut up.”

“You think I didn’t notice how you’ve changed after Glenn died?” He continued. Sylvain wanted to stop – but anger rushed through him like a hurricane. All he knew was how to do is hurt people, and he didn’t know what to do with this horrible pain in his chest. “You stopped talking to Dimitri. Do you know how many times I had to drag your body to bed from how you’ve overworked yourself – “

“This isn’t about me, you idiot!” He shouted, voice cracking. Felix looked up at him with his shoulders tense and brow furrowed. His pale skin was already flushing from shouting and his hair hung around his face in loose waves. 

Sylvain cocked his head. “Isn’t it?”

He sighed angrily. “Stop being stupid and let me come with you, Sylvain.”

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to crawl into Felix’s heart and stay there forever. The image of Miklan’s body lowering into the earth flickered in his head like a ghost. Something dark and ugly whispers into his heart.  _ How can anyone ever love you?  _ And then a second, more horrifying thought came to mind.  _ He loves me – and I’m going to ruin us both. _

“My parents don’t even know about us,” he croaked out, weakly.

_ “What?” _

“They don’t know we’re dating,” Sylvain repeated. “I haven’t told them.”

Sylvain was nine years old when he fell out of a tree and broke his arm. He laid in the dirt while Felix wailed and couldn’t be forced to leave his side even when the paramedics came. From far away, you would assume the wailing would be from the boy on the ground. Even through the fog of pain, Sylvain thought to himself, he never wanted to see Felix hurt like that again.

Sylvain was nineteen years old. Felix was staring at him with the same expression when he was seven years old and he didn’t know any other pain deeper than empathy at the time.

“Maybe, this was a mistake,” Sylvain said, so Felix didn’t have to. “I’m not the man you thought I was.”

Felix shook his head. “I’m not the one who needs to find out who is who.”

It was only ten minutes when Felix took his laptop and left. Thirty minutes passed when Sylvain showered and changed into a new set of clothes. Once an hour passed, reality settled into his bones and Sylvain slid down the wall and cried.

-

Sylvain wakes up with a hangover that could probably kill god. He forces his eyes open like peeling glued paper apart and his head turns with a force of an ocean wave. Blearily, he reaches for the ibuprofen and water to swallow down. It may be a miracle that he’s alive right now.

He considers going back to bed when the loud vibration of his phone cuts through his fog. He grabs it and sighs. Pressing the call button, he lifts it up to his ear and says, “Hello?”

“Sylvain.”

“Yeah,” he scratches his stomach idly. “I think you got the wrong number.”

His father doesn’t laugh. “It’s nearly noon. You were supposed to call at ten this morning. What have you been doing?”

Even without his father physically being in the room, his deep voice is enough for Sylvain to straighten his posture and clear his voice. Years have passed and he has difficulty wrenching himself from the grasp of his father who has him by the scalp. “I was at a reunion party last night,” he answers, truthfully. “I drank too much.”

It’s eerily silent from his father’s side of the phone. He would be in his office during this time which had a busy street out front and air conditioning but there was not even static. Finally, he gruffly says, “Are you going to spend your whole life trying to piss me off?”

“I don’t know.” He feels himself further and further detaching himself from his emotions and self as the conversation continues. “Are you ever going to talk to me like I’m your son?”

“What do you want?” He demands in his ear. “Is it money that you want, Sylvain?”

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” Sylvain asks. “I did what you wanted. I went overseas, I worked hard, and I saved the company’s reputation. I proved myself to you.”

“You did,” his father concedes. “And I am proud of you, my son. I’m sorry for losing my temper. Truthfully, I called to propose to you to come back to the office and work under me.”

Sylvain feels his stomach drop. There’s a feeling worse than dread that sits in his chest and it certainly is too early to unpack that after waking up minutes ago.

“For just a student, you were able to take care of the Gautier law firm all by yourself. Your brother’s death would have ruined the company forever – to be involved in gang violence and be killed, had the company lose millions,” He explains in a light tone. “But perhaps that was my mistake for letting him work with us.”

“Sylvain, I knew you were special. You were able to succeed – you waste your time on worthless things when you could be doing so much good for the company. There’s no point in going back to school. You have years of experience in the field now, so why don’t you come back home?”

“The ibuprofen hasn’t kicked in yet,” Sylvain jokes weakly. “I think I only heard half of what you said through this pounding headache.”

“There is one condition, though,” he continues as if he didn’t say anything at all. “I can’t let the press have you be seen or involved with women – you’re lucky that you weren’t caught during your time here. I think it’s important for you to also start looking into settling down.”

“ _ I’m twenty-four _ .” Sylvain pushes the words out through gritted teeth.

“You’re certainly too old to be continuing your womanizer act you’ve been doing since you were a teenager,” his father mutters. “You know, your mother is worried for you too. She told me to tell you that her friends all have nice, polite, daughters for you to meet. It’s easier to run background checks on those we know.”

Sylvain exhales through his mouth before spitting out angrily, “I don’t see how it’s any of your business who I spend my time with. I don’t need you to police my relationships – especially when I’m not interested in marrying a woman.”

Once the words leave his mouth, the aftertaste is freedom. He wonders if this is it – that he’ll be disowned from the family. His parents wouldn’t even attend his funeral and he would finally be below Miklan, just as he always wanted. It’s a shame that he’s too dead to see it. 

“I see,” comes his father’s first muted reaction. With a sigh, he says, “Well, I suppose we can compromise then. If marriage is not something you’re interested in, then we can just tighten our grip on the media to ensure there are no scandals.”

“Wait.” Sylvain pauses. “You would rather me cheat on and play with women than marry a man?”

“It would ruin the law firm, Sylvain. You understand, don’t you?”

Perhaps, it’s good luck that they’re having this conversation now. It certainly meant that Sylvain didn’t have to worry about punching his fatherly figure and breaking his straight nose.

“I think so,” he answers bitterly. “I think that I understand that you care more about your business than you ever cared about your family.”

“It’s nothing personal,” his father says. Nothing ever seems personal enough for him. “Humour me, then. Who is this man you’re going to marry then? Some boy you found down the street?”

“It’s Felix,” Sylvain laughs, suddenly ecstatic with the power he feels in this moment. “It’s always been Felix.” 

“Are you going to throw your life away just for him, Sylvain? Throw away all the love I’ve given you all these years?”

It’s true that Sylvain was the one who received the most love from their parents. He was the one who got the affection, the gifts, and the affirmations that he was good enough. Miklan used to tell him that he was born lucky – but luck always runs out and everyone around him will realize there’s nothing to him but a trust-fund and the family name.

And it might make him an ungrateful brat to throw away the only things that made him worthwhile, but it’s not enough anymore. He can’t live like this anymore.

“I’m not flying across the world to make you happy,” Sylvain says. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. “Not again.”

His father clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I’m disappointed, Sylvain. I really thought you were different.”

Miklan rolls in his grave at the insinuation that he and Sylvain are alike. The imagery is enough for Sylvain to bark out a laugh and retort, “International calls are expensive. Don’t waste your money and breath next time.”

-

It takes a few more glasses of water and a long nap for Sylvain to get the courage and sobriety to walk down the street. He makes detours – to the convenience store to buy Felix’s favourite pork buns and makes it halfway to the grocery store for flowers before deciding against it. However, it was now six in the evening and Felix would be having dinner and he’d hate to interrupt him – so he paces the streets in circles. Unfortunately, he got hungry and ate the pork buns so now he needs to go back to the convenience store. (They got cold, anyway. Felix only eats them when they’re microwaved.)

(He might be stalling. It’s 11pm.)

He is leaving the convenience store again with his new pork buns and brushes against a shoulder walking past. The automatic doors closing behind him feel like a death chime when he turns to see furrowed brows and strands falling into amber eyes. He forgot the after-dinner gym schedule. Felix stares at him in his old gym shorts he got in high-school and clutching a water-bottle in his right hand.

“Um,” Sylvain starts. “Can we talk?”

Felix looks away and Sylvain doesn’t miss the way he tightens his grip on the plastic bottle. “Whatever you want.”

_ It’s better than nothing _ , he thinks. He nods shakily, and says, “Alright.”

They are guided by the streetlights that illuminate spots on the sidewalk and if they happen to step underneath the light, Sylvain steals a glance at Felix to see his expression a little better in the dark. It’s not enough to gauge his expression, and the pork buns are getting cold again.  _ Are you going to make him wait another five years? _

He stops in the streets, but Felix keeps walking. Say it already.

“I’m sorry, Felix,” Sylvain finally says, the words tumbling out of his mouth clumsily. “I - I don’t even know where to start.”

It’s enough for Felix to stop but he doesn’t turn around. However, he doesn’t miss a beat with his sharp reply, “Start with bringing up my dead brother.”

“Right,” Sylvain agrees. “I - god, Felix. I’m so sorry. I just thought that you didn’t care - thought you didn’t believe in me.”

Felix whips around sharply, and the artificial glow of the streetlight coats his pained face in gold. “How could you not see?” He nearly cries out. “See that I have loved you for all these years?”

Sylvain takes a few steps forward slowly and says softly, “But who would love Sylvain Jose Gautier? Playboy extraordinaire - rich, selfish, manipulative and broken.”

“I’ve loved playboy extraordinaire and I’ve loved the broken man,” Felix exclaims. “I loved the man who left me five years ago - and now I’ve found love in the one holding the plastic convenience store bag for me.”

Sylvain can’t help but laugh. He’s always been transparent for Felix. “How has that been for you?”

Felix snorts. “Heartbreaking.”

“You need someone better,” he insists. It’s the last open door – the one that can be the escape and to give up on them.

Felix slams it shut with a tilt of his head upwards and the words that roll off his sharp silver tongue in a flourish: “Don’t tell me what I need.”

“I don’t know what love is without consequences,” Sylvain admits. “I don’t really know if it’s too late – if I can ever redeem myself for the horrible things I’ve done. I’ve ruined myself and the good things and people in my life, but I don’t want that to happen to us. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re a good person, Sylvain,” Felix murmurs. “I was worried for you. I wanted to be with you – but you – you pushed me away.”

“I thought it was better that way,” he says. 

What comes after is not silence. It’s the memories of grass-stained jeans and chubby fingers hastily putting on band-aids. It’s visiting graves in the early morning and crying into each other’s shoulders where they can fit just right. It’s Felix and Sylvain five years ago who spent nights tasting each other’s secrets in open mouths among unmade sheets in a world that didn’t understand them. 

“And now?” Felix asks, like Sylvain would throw away this moment of the bright moon and Felix still flushed from his work-out in the empty streets, in favour of the versions of themselves that didn’t exist anymore.

“I want to try again – if you want,” Sylvain whispers. “If it’s not over yet.”

Felix shakes his head with a smile. “I don’t think so.”

They reach out towards each other in the dark with hands cradling dimples that appear as they find each other’s mouths in the night. Their steps line up and click against the pavement with their bright excitement when they go back home. The pork buns are ripped to share by calloused hands and it still tastes fresh even from the summer heat – and the playful bickering for the last one continues for ten minutes. When he looks over to Felix who indulges himself in the low-quality convenience snack, Sylvain who has experienced life’s shallow pleasures with a full destructive force, can confidently say that there may be nothing better, nothing as fulfilling, than realizing love again.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! every kudos/comment is appreciated.  
> twitter: @aikusoren


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